¡Ay de la Vida de una Mazorca de Maíz!
by Apocalyptic Lore
Summary: It isn't often that Antonio gets the opportunity to indulge in corn, but what if it's at the expense of Lovino's sanity? And, of course, the Spaniard is completely oblivious to his misdoings. Two-part fiction.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Um… A spur-of-the-moment type of thing, I suppose. I've wanted to write something for Spamano for a while now, but haven't been able to pull out a one-shot yet (even though there's Spamano in "The Eleventh Hour"). And, then, the other day, I was eating corn-on-the-cob, and this just sort of came to me. Eh heh, my mind's a bit frightening at times…

Anyway, now that we're past the rambling…

This will have two parts. Human and country names both used. And, yes, the beginning part was blessed with more vocabulary, mostly because it hasn't been interfered with by any conflict. Enjoy and review~!

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Ah, Spain. Known for its many edible delicacies, varying from the ever-common churro to the oddly-dubbed gooseneck barnacles, it is not often said that the Spanish are deprived of the cuisines of a unique realm. In fact, what with its vast crops of grains and tomatoes- the quantity of which only bows to Italy- it has been said that Spain would cultivate themselves into a prosperous, export-healthy country. Unfortunately, there has always been one crop in particular that the Spaniards have found themselves lacking in abundance, one in which they relish in when the chance arises to devour such a glorious vegetable.

Therefore, it is pretty safe to assume that Antonio wouldn't be wasting those precious ears of corn that had taken refuge upon his doorstep.

It had been a rather pleasant day, all in all; the sun had risen above the rolling emerald hills in just the right manner, casting a warm glow upon the land beyond its grasp. A gentle breeze, fervent but not overbearing, had blown itself across the open fields, whiplashing a few leaves and nature-oriented debris in every which way. Why, t'was the epitome of a genuine, scenic day upon the Iberian Peninsula, and would, hopefully, remain so for the rest of that day.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had taken a single step outside his abode, a deep yawn erupting from within his lungs and carrying out from beyond his lips. A smile blessed upon those lips and a slightly overjoyed skip in his step, the Spaniard stretched his arms far above his head, inhaling the sweet scents wafting off of the tomato crops just beyond the gate, and advanced a single step further…

…Only to find himself stumbling forward rather clumsily and plummeting to the ground, toes having made a somewhat agonizing contact with a large wooden crate sitting upon the earth. A crate which, upon further inspection, contained an abundance of corn ears, all piled atop each other in perfect display. Upon the uppermost ear was a sticky note, labeled with "From America" and a bunch of peculiar, assumedly Japanese smiley faces. Such a sight only intensified the vivid beaming of the Spaniard, and without giving any further thoughts towards the corn, the tomatoes, or… well, anything else for that matter, Antonio proceeded to lift the colossal crate off of the ground and into the house.

Oh, it wasn't that Spain wasn't already full of corn crops- in all actuality, corn stalks could be found scattered across the entire nation. Unfortunately, corn borers had become a problem in recent years, and had eaten a decent hole through the wallets of many locals who made their living off of corn. The last thing anyone really wanted was to ingest pest-ridden ears of corn- not to mention the fact that the majority of the corn grown on Spanish soil was used for animal feed and whatnot. Besides, America was the world's greatest producer of corn, and often sent ears or even entire stalks around for the American Thanksgiving- not that anyone else celebrated it, but Alfred's naiveté couldn't be surpassed by many (well, except maybe Antonio's, but that was beside the point).

Grin everlasting as always, the Spaniard dropped the box atop the counter and maneuvered over to the kitchen sink, cleansing his hands thoroughly with lavender soap and tap water before once again approaching the vegetables.

"Hey, Antonio!" Ah, such an undeniably irked voice, agitated in both tone and pitch… could only be his former charge. Lovino burst through the front door, chest heaving up and down in a frantic pant as short breathes huffed from within his lungs. Well, the Italian had always been one to make an entrance, but this? For the state in which Lovino was presenting himself wasn't in the least bit attractive to most; he wore a somewhat casual outfit, yet it was clouded with half-wet splotches of mud and grime, and his deep brown locks of hair were disheveled and a bit scruffy. "Alright, you bastard, you'd better have a good explanation for what you did!"

Yes, most would find this young man completely unattractive, if not a bit _repulsing_. But not Antonio. "Ah, Lovi~! You look so cute!" he exclaimed cheerily, approaching the Italian and leaning in for a deathly-strong hug.

"A-Argh! Get off of me, damn it!" Lovino snapped back, shoving the lug off of him in distaste. "I'm covered in mud, and you won't even bother making up for what you've done?" What with the oblivious expression now worn upon the older man's face and the slight hurt-puppy gaze he had caught a glimpse of, the Italian narrowed his eyes and sighed in complete exasperation. "Oh, honestly! I come over here, and you can't even start a meal for me? I'm your guest, treat me like it!"

Antonio cocked his head to the side ever-so-slightly, lip jutting out a bit in a confused pout; what on earth was Lovino going on about? To the Spaniard, it sounded like complete gibberish, and his tone had angered considerably since his arrival. But, oh! That look plastered upon the younger nation's face, that genuinely pissed-off expression he wore so well… it was just too irresistible! "I was going to make some food soon, so just take a seat and I'll whip us up something nice, Lovi~!" He leaned in once more- for another murderous embrace?- but fell flat on his face for the second time that morning, as the Italian had already begun to storm off.

"I'm using your shower, and I'm stealing your clothes for now. Have the food ready for me by the time I'm finished, you idiot. And don't call me that!" He was entirely unaware of his newfound brutality, but Lovino would have none of the Spaniard's crap-load today, considering how irrevocably horrid his day had already played out. And it was only ten in the morning!

As Lovino advanced into the back hallway, a contented sigh passed the lips of Antonio, who had proceeded to wrap an apron around his waist, one which once read "Kiss the Cook", until the second "o" had been singed off in a toaster accident, and now read "Kiss the Co#k". A bit suggestive, and Lovino had insisted on more than one occasion to get rid of it, mostly for Francis-related reasons, yet the Spaniard had refused, as it had been through more cuisines and full-course meals than any other item of his ever had. Gently, he lowered the crate into the sink and flipped the water back on, allowing it to pour its cleansing droplets over the vegetables before turning it off and cracking his knuckles skillfully. With a dexterous flick of the wrist and a bend of fingers, he ripped the jade green husks from their former residency upon the corn and tossed them effortlessly into the waste bin, soon to be followed by the greenery surrounding the rest of the vegetables.

_Ah, I sure hope Lovi likes corn. But who couldn't love it- it's so perfect in every way! Almost as good as a tomato, though he'll never admit it. Maybe I should leave out some tomatoes, just in case… Me pregunto qué se tarda tanto? _Indeed, after Antonio had sustained his corn-husking for a good fifteen minutes, he began to worry. Perhaps he should go back and check on his Italian charge, just in case…?

Of course, he had done something similar about a year prior, and had nearly gotten a face full of unused bath beads for it, as Lovino hadn't had anything nearer to his naked body than those. Of course, the Spaniard had protested afterwards, stating that he had merely been checking up on him; after all, if the water had gotten too hot, the Italian could have passed out! And, besides, Antonio had raised the grouchy nation, and though he may have _developed_ more over the years, Lovino didn't have anything that Spain hadn't seen already, even if it had been as a child.

Weighing the two options between his hands, the Spaniard had chosen the dumber option of the two and took a single step forward to seek out his companion before Lovino entered the room, garbed in some of Spain's old clothes with his russet hair clinging to the silhouette of his scalp as it dripped with water. "Hey, bastard! You aren't done cooking yet? Get on with it!"

"Lovi?" Antonio mumbled softly, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "If something's bothering you, feel free to tell me."

"Hurry up and finish husking the corn! I'm hungry, damn it!" Alas, Lovino didn't look at all prepared to recite his true dilemma to his former guardian. "Do you need me to come help you or something?"

"Um…" Antonio gawked distraughtly around the pantry, tapping his fingers uneasily against the hard wood frame of the door. "Mind if we have an all-veggie meal? My pantry's almost completely empty, so we only really have food from the crops outside."

"You're kidding me… You only _just _noticed that your pantry is empty? There has to be _something _in there!"

"Only if you include the baking soda and the paprika…"

"Ungh…!" Lovino crossed his arms, scowling and pouting and whatnot like an overgrown child. "Great, another thing to worsen this day…" he mumbled under his breath, turning away from the Spaniard. First, he had woken up with splitting headache, almost rivaling with a hangover in intensity, though it hadn't made a whole lot of logical sense, considering he hadn't been drinking. Then he had made the mistake of answering the phone, even after seeing that the caller ID was his younger brother. Feliciano had only phoned up the Southern Italian to tell him how_ fantastically_ his date with that potato-bastard had been. Absolutely disgusted, Lovino had fled his own estate to visit that of Antonio, only to get stuck in horrid traffic. Eventually, he would approach his former guardian's house and promptly trip and fall into a puddle of mud, thus the reason why he had arrived in a filthy mess. And, typically, Antonio's idiotic optimism was enough to churn his stomach with a queasy disgust. "You know, just forget it. I'm not even that hungry."

"Oh, um… Okay!" Antonio shot him a wide smile, though within felt a bit unnerved at the Italian's lack of appetite. "I do have some _tomates_ already picked, in the bowl over there…"

"I said I wasn't hungry, stupid Spagna…" he grumbled back, digging his face into the backrest of the couch.

The Spaniard shrugged his broad shoulders, snatching a single, newly-husked ear of corn from the box and raising it to his lips, a ravenous saliva rising in his mouth and giving his stomach an appropriately-famished gurgle. Lovino watched exhaustedly as the older nation brought his teeth forward, plunging them into the first bite of corn, and an expression of pure bliss graced the features of Antonio. The Italian grimaced, expecting this scene to unfold how it had before- Spain devouring the fruit or vegetable with the vigor of a hungry wolf. Never before could he recall seeing the Spaniard eat corn-on-the-cob, though, so he blessed his boredom with disgust rather than complete monotony.

The sight which unraveled before him, however, wasn't in the least what he expected to witness. The moment those glistening white teeth- _Er, no, have they always been so white…?_- came into contact with the sweet kernels of corn, and that brilliant grin spread from ear to ear, Lovino could feel his stomach churn-not in repulsion, as previously expected, but in slight _hormonal _discomfort. _No, that's completely ridiculous!_ he denied, nibbling his bottom lip and trying in vain to avert his eyes. _I'm not some teenage girl, damn it! There's no way I'm-_

Antonio, oblivious to both the world and his guests' unease, proceeded to take another bite, nibbling just right of the prior mouthful, and gnawed off the kernels from that area as well. His former charge, however, was not enjoying this in the slightest… or, rather, he was enjoying it in all the wrong ways. _My God! What the hell is that bastard doing to that ear of corn?!_ A single droplet of juice from the corn plunged from the now-empty spot on the cob and plummeted down Antonio's flesh, descending gradually and mockingly down his lips, his chin, his neck, and disappearing behind his clothes… an act which promptly sent a jolt down the Italian's body to his- er, _vital_ areas. "D-Damn it all!" he cursed, entirely unaware of his swear being uttered aloud until the older nation raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

Antonio cocked his head to the side, almost resembling a baffled puppy, before continuing his _near lovemaking_ to the corn, tearing off a few more kernels _much too slowly_, and lashing out his tongue to claim another trickle of juice which had oozed from the corn's rightmost end to the Spaniard's lower lip. Lovino, on the other hand, was squirming uncontrollably by this point, willing himself with enough fervency to tear his hazel eyes from the tempting scene, trying desperately to calm himself down. This was _Spain_, for crying out loud! Why in hell would he get so _riled up_ from the idiot downing an ear of corn? The Italian was revolting himself, considering his reaction to such a casual, innocent act. Perhaps it was just the result of his turmoil earlier in the day- yes, that was surely it. The madness of that morning had driven him to near insanity, and-

"Lovi~? Are you alright over there?" the bastard called, pure innocence and ignorance lacing his pleasan- er, _agitating_ voice. "You're making some pretty funny noises, you know."

Wait, he was making noises? _Out loud_? Oh, divine heaven above, take him now! The Italian gripped the armrest of the sofa tighter, nails embedded in the thick cloth, teeth gritted. A rather obnoxious crunching noise sounded from the corn-on-the-cob as Antonio took yet another bite- really, how long _was _that ear of corn?- and Lovino gave a timely inhale, sharp and forced, at the sweat continued to pour down his neck, tingling all the way down. "Quit being so loud!" he shouted ardently, shutting his eyes tighter. "It's damned disgusting!"

"Are you sure everything's alright?" Antonio hollered back, mild concern coating his voice. Slightly apprehensive, the Spaniard brought his corn away from his lips to settle in his palm.

_This isn't happening! This is absolutely ridiculous! Damn it, fuck this! Damn it, damn it, da-_

And Antonio's face was at his in a split-second, foreheads touching. "Hm, you don't have a fever… I don't think, anyway. You are awfully red though; actually, _¡__te ves como un tomate__!_ Ah hah hah!" He inched away briefly, chortling into his free hand while the godforsaken ear of corn nestled teasingly in the other. "Maybe it's just because you haven't eaten anything. Want some corn?" His other hand crept forward, corn nearing the Italian's face.

"I-I don't want any corn!" _Oh, to hell with it!_ Now his voice was stuttering? He had to get out… _fast_.

"Hm? Lovino? You're sweating again! Quick, Lovi~! We have to get you to the hospital!" Antonio's smile fell exceedingly quickly as he latched his hand around his former charge's wrist and urged him to follow.

"L-L-Let go of me, you bas-" Another hormonal spasm jolted down his spine, traveling further down, and Lovino promptly slapped the other man away, fists clenched. To the older nation, it appeared as though his guest was over the edge in a fury or frustration of some sort; if only he knew that the Italian was trying desperately to hold back both his hormones and an unsightly moan. "I said let me go!"

Spain's eyes saddened, if only for the briefest of moments, before his smile returned somewhat crookedly. "Oh, Lovi, you're so cute when you're aggravated!" But he obeyed nonetheless as Lovino gave one last weak attempt to tug himself away from the other's grasp. The Italian, without any inkling of delay, spun on his heel and raced out the door, panting heavily as he hurriedly slammed the door behind him.

"Wonder what that was all about…" The Spaniard rubbed the back of his head, utterly dumbfounded, when his gaze fell upon the armrest of the couch, the crescent shape of Lovino's nail imprints still embedded in the fabric.

_Hmm?_ Looking closer, Antonio caught a glimpse of something- his former charge's wallet had managed to fall out of his pocket in his frenzied panic. The Spanish nation smirked ever-so-slightly, nibbling absentmindedly on the corn-on-the-cob. Oh, Lovi could be so adorably forgetful at times!

He'd be back. _Eventually_.

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A/N: Yes ? No? Maybe? Let me know how I'm doing so far. Any major typos will be fixed by the time the second part is up.

_¡__te ves como un tomate__!- You look like a tomato!_

_¡Ay de la vida de una mazorca de maíz!- Woe is the Life of a Corncob!_

**R&R!**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A little forewarning- a bit more swearing in this one, as this is more from Lovino's point of view than Antonio's. Enjoy, and thanks ever-so-much for the reviews~!

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Lovino Vargas sauntered dismally along the pathway, coming upon a towering building and collapsing with the utmost exhaustion and unease, and sighed in perplexity. Slumping down against the hard brick before him, the Italian slinked to the ground, dusting off his pants with a swift brush of his palms. Hazel eyes narrowed in a distraught apprehension, revealing all too many of his innermost emotions, as well as their irrepressible turmoil. His head ached, his heart throbbed mercilessly off of his ribcage, and his limbs were trembling, but at least his _vitals_ had calmed down quite a bit since he had stormed off. A scowl blessed his lips, eyebrows knitting together in a firm line of bewilderment- surely he was out of his mind? This was _Spain_, for the love of Christ! Perhaps he had come down with something; yes, that was surely it. A bizarre, Spanish disease, brought upon by that godforsaken corn… Of course, he hadn't actually ingested any of the vegetable, and Antonio seemed to be doing well enough after eating it. Therefore, he could begrudgingly come to the conclusion that the corn had_ not_ been tainted by that American bastard.

All the same, it didn't clarify the peculiar cause of his sudden arous- no, that wasn't what he was feeling; it had been much more of a discomfort than anything else, but he most certainly hadn't been "turned on" by Antonio eating a fucking ear of corn. The sheer proposal of him being roused by a vegetable- a _freaking vegetable_- broiled the Italian's blood with a spluttering irritation. Besides, Antonio most certainly wasn't his "type", what with the goofy smiles and the sickeningly-optimistic hugs. The Spaniard was nothing short of idiotic, a fool with no common sense of any sort, captivating, friendly emerald eyes, and-

"No! Damn it!" he hollered, fists clenching into tight balls at his sides, nails digging ruthlessly into his fleshy pink palms. A few civilians cast him questioning glances, and a couple even shooed their children away at the unusual man's spontaneous outburst, but he couldn't care any less in that moment. He was experiencing passionate denial, and if they thought they could interrupt or attempt to bring his ranting to a halt, they could screw him, for all he cared. "Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Argh, what's wrong with me?"

His stomach retorted with a prompt gurgle, complaining eternally of undeniable hunger; after all, Antonio had never fed him. Er, no, Antonio had never given him anything to eat… or prepared him anything, or- _Why is this happening to me…? _Regardless of how he worded it inside his head, they all managed to twist and contort into something that could be taken the wrong way. Pushing that thought and all else aside for the moment, Lovino shoved a slender hand into his pocket, fingering around nonchalantly for his wallet to buy some form of Spanish cuisine.

"What the-?" he sputtered aloud, groping around deeper to no avail. "Where the hell is my wallet?" _Oh no… Oh, good heaven above, no… He didn't-!_ Realization dawned upon the Italian like a crude, mocking slap upside the head. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the ever-innocent (though secretly devilish) Spaniard, had snatched his wallet from his pants pocket… somehow. The methods for this matter were completely veiled from the divine vision of Lovino, as he had stuck the leathery wallet in his back pocket, which would have implied that the Spanish bastard had-

"W-Wha?!" he sputtered, nearly toppling over in his frenzied conclusion. Oh, that son of a bitch was _so_ going to get what was coming to him! Readjusting his lightweight jacket, the Southern Italian jutted his lip out and crossed his arms, face a vivid scarlet in all of his blatant fuming, and advanced back down the pathway towards the estate of the corn-molesting Spaniard.

********

"Ah~! That was good…" Antonio grumbled to himself, gingerly placing his stripped corncob upon the platter before him, beside two others. _But… What am I going to do with the others? I don't know when they were picked, so they could go bad any time! Oh, I hope this corn doesn't all go to waste! Maybe I'll be hungry for it later…?_ Though, deep within, he realized this to be an incredibly unlikely idea, and slumped his shoulders once more, if only for the briefest of moments, before an epiphany struck him, igniting the flickering metaphorical light bulb within his mind. _Well, I could share it with Lovi, but he didn't seem to be very hungry. Hm… I wonder if turtles like corn…?_

Rubbing the back of his neck in troubled thought, the Spaniard cast a sidelong glance at his companion's wallet, which sat a solitary vigil beside the corn crate, flipped open with the various compartments unzipped and unfolded, money and pictures scattered in every which direction. A prolonged grimace graced his features at the contemplation of Lovino, entering the house once more to find his wallet completely disastrous, clearly having been rummaged through with complete disregard to the Italian's private life. Oh, it wasn't Antonio's intentions to personally raid the wallet of his former charge, nor did he aim to completely and utterly flout the Italian's privacy, but there hadn't been anything on television that night, aside from a few rather pointless reality TV shows. So he was curiously apathetic- not like it really mattered.

Within the wallet's enfolded leathery contents, he had discovered a variety of assorted images, objects, and currencies. Never had he expected Lovino to be quite so unorganized, and rightfully so; for every time the Spaniard had visited the Southern Italian's abode, he had found every nook and cranny to be astonishingly well-kept and tidy, albeit a few little belongings were out of place. This vessel of cash, however, appeared all _but_ uncluttered, with dollar bills- ranging from as modern as present day to as archaic as many centuries old- garnishing the outer rims, stuffed from top to bottom with the off-emerald currency.

Foraging deeper within the wallet's innards, he had come across a peculiar splotch stained upon the innermost folding, a fleshy off-red color, assumedly from eating one too many overly- juicy tomatoes. Beside this blemish was a nearly-vacant encasing for pictures, only two images having been nestled into their rightful positions within the plastic covering; a single picture of the Southern Italian and Feliciano, which flabbergasted even Antonio, considering Lovino's supposed loathing towards his younger brother. Regardless, he had glanced down at the other picture that had been put in place and smiled softly, for there was an aged picture of himself and a younger Lovino; the younger nation's face had bore that trademark frown, those hazel eyes glaring menacingly at the camera's corrupted lens, while Antonio had simply grinned idiotically, an arm draped around the other's shoulders in a friendly embrace. In all honesty, the Spaniard had the utmost difficulty in determining the Italian's true rationalizations behind his actions, for every sign that Lovino had given him in their lifetime together had implicated his chief hatred towards his former guardian. Thankfully, t'was a fact that Antonio himself had an incredulously difficult time noticing, and usually just let it slide, in that naivety of his.

Antonio released a contented sigh, smile briefly blessing his lips as he licked the sweet corn juice from them. "I sure hope he's okay, though…" he mumbled, stretching his arms high above his head, interlocking his fingers upon reaching the uppermost area. "Well, I never did finish that gardening that I planned on doing this morning… Hmm." Giving a little shrug of his broad shoulders, the Spanish nation rose to his feet, dusting off the table with a vigorous swipe of a paper towel before snatching a lightweight jacket rather vehemently from the coat rack and advancing out the door.

_I sure hope Lovi doesn't stay angry for too long… I wonder what's gotten him so worked up. I sure didn't do anything to set him off; all I've done today is a little agriculture. Well, I mean, Alfred sent me some corn, but I don't see how that would aggravate him. Of course, this_ is_ Lovino I'm talking about… I wonder if Feli knows anything…_ As he proceeded in the general direction of the fields, upon which he grew many crops of various sorts, Antonio couldn't help but gaze up admiringly at the twilight sky above, a setting sun of scarlet, golden, rusty hues, all glowing dimly along the Spanish horizon and urging forth an ever-swelling inner peace within his soul. The various scents of vegetables, intermingling with those of a couple of fruits, wafted about his nostrils, dancing in blissful serenity in the gentle breeze. T'was an undeniably beautiful day in Spain, the evening just beginning to fade beyond the sky, and would-

"Ugh! What a crappy day!" groaned a voice from afar, crudely interrupting Antonio's passive thoughts. Such a pessimistic, bizarrely tomato-esque voice could belong to none other than Lovino Vargas- and as for exactly _how_ a voice could resemble a tomato was unknown to all but Antonio, as he was absolutely certain a tomato would sound similar to the pitch and level of the Italian's, could it speak for itself… but that was beside the point. The voice, tomato-like or the latter, resonated high above the fields of fruits and vegetables, echoing forever on into the atmospheric dusk above. Alas, its precise location could not be pinpointed, what with the cawing of birds above and the consistent crackling of their lanky yellow feet against the wooden fencing. Where, dare he ask, _was_ the Italian at that moment? Was it at all possible that Antonio had misinterpreted the voice- could it perhaps have been his imagination, brought on by his corn-devouring or that day's sheer laziness? It seemed as though he could be assured of virtually nothing anymore.

"Oh, damn it all!" Ah, there was that melodic, casual voice that the Spaniard had grown to love. The vocals ensued high above the fields, reaching the ears of Antonio and signifying that Lovino surely must have been somewhere near the tomato plants.

"Ah, Lovi~!" he greeted warmly, obliviously, and (unknowingly) attractively. "There you are! Hm? Have you been here this whole time? Heh, of course you'd be in the tomato fields- why didn't I think of that?"

_Because you're an imbecile…_ Lovino thought bitterly, though gulped it down like a heavy glob of cough syrup. "Of course not! Why would I hang around in your _garden_ for fun?" Ever-the-pessimist, Lovino had evidently been sitting for a while, though, for the bottom of his- er, Antonio's spare pants, from hips to ankles, was caked in dirt, assumedly from resting on his bum for much too long. A scowl was plastered upon his face, lips jutting out just enough to form a barely-perceptible pout, and his hazel gaze was narrowed to the point of appearing… almost fatigued, really. "Look, I-"

"Gyah~!" the Spanish nation vocalized, lunging forward and locking onto the other's shoulders in a friendly embrace. "I can't help myself, you look so adorable~!"

"Get off of me, you bastard..." he mumbled half-heartedly, making a futile attempt to nudge the other off of him, and ignoring him entirely by the third second passed.

"Hm?" Antonio grumbled, raising an eyebrow in question. Hesitantly, he unclamped his deathly grip on the Southern Italian, smile wiped clean from his face, and sat back against the tomato plants beside Lovino, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder (much to the latter's annoyance). Lovino's cheeks flushed, mimicking the bright reds and crimsons of the ready-to-pick tomatoes surrounding them, the scents of which further churning the saliva in his mouth and prompting a famished gurgle within his stomach. Grunting in feeble irritation, the Italian brought his hand up to pick a tomato from behind him, only to gently rub shoulders with Antonio, the fleeting contact conveying a riveting thrill through his body and raising the hairs on the back of his neck and arms. With a swift, vigorous yank, he tugged a single tomato from its place on the plant and whisked his arm away, as if the Spaniard were poisonous to the touch, and stuffed his face with a single bite from the crimson fruit. A single dribble of tomato juice trickled down his chin, though was hastily wiped away with a flick of the wrist by Lovino's hurried, shaky fingers, and he proceeded to take another bite. A bit of an unorthodox way to eat a tomato, but, hey, whatever works, right?

Antonio and Lovino continued to sit in silence for what seemed like an eternity before the Spaniard spoke up. "Hey… Lovi? Is everything alri-?" But, alas, his voice was sharply cut off by a head dropping languidly upon his shoulder and lingering, a steady intake and release of air welling from the mouth of said cranium. Lovino's face now rested peacefully upon the older nation's shoulder, lolling to the side a bit in a deep slumber. _Wow, I guess he _was_ exhausted… Ah hah hah._ Ruffling the younger's hair a bit, he hoisted the sleeping, oblivious nation off of the ground and onto his back, dragging the Italian back towards the house for a much more suitable place to sleep for the night.

********

_Oh, Lovi,_ Antonio mumbled inwardly, eyes scanning over the stilled form of the slumbering Italian. Lovino lied motionless upon the quilted mattress, lips twitching ever-so-slightly as a fluttering breath passed in and out of his mouth. _You really shouldn't overwork yourself like this. You look cute as a tomato, but being red so often can't be good for your health. Hmm… Maybe I should get you some food for when you wake up? But would you rather have corn or a tomato? Or maybe something entirely different, like a platter of churros? _All the while contemplating his companion's taste in food, he leaned forward, hovering over the sleeping form of his former charge with curiousity. Certainly Lovino hadn't just murmured something in his sleep? But, as he listened closer, he did indeed hear a few incoherent whines, along with the faintly-spoken words of "Bastard" and "Curl".

The older nation blinked once, twice, before recoiling ever-so-slightly back to the bedside. Indeed, Antonio had never truly figured out what the purpose of the curl was… for, really, what could it be, other than an OCD patient's worst nightmare? Many times had he asked the Italian for permission to cut it off, or at least trim it down a little, but Lovino had squirmed away, making a blatant commotion and uttering things about Spain being perverted, or vile, or some other cruel insult. And, yet, here the Italian lied, burying his face into the satin white bed sheets and further soothing his unusually-peaceful expression. It was a scene that could be described in no ways other than "adorable" in the Spaniard's eyes, though he obligated himself to resist the temptation to jump Lovino, or squeal uncontrollably. Why was this? Perhaps the only reason perceptible was the ever-curious gleam that caught in Antonio's jade eyes.

They say that curiosity killed the cat. Be that as it may, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was either a canine of some sort or a ridiculously_ stupid_ feline, as his fingers reached forward gingerly, all senses fixated upon the curl of brown- mocking him, scoffing at him, even_ ridiculing _him. T'was as if he had obtained some form of a death wish, for touching, pulling, or even glancing at the curl was considered forbidden. But, alas, it seems as though the Spaniard _was _truly a ridiculously stupid feli- er, nation.

Screwing up his facial expression in determination, Antonio seized the curl in a pinch formed by his index finger, middle finger, and thumb, and gave it a prompt tug. And yet, regardless of how many quality yanks he bestowed, the stubborn strand of hair refused to relinquish its hold atop Lovino's head. Said Italian, on the other hand, was in a state of mid-slumber frenzy- still he mumbled incoherently, though it was now accompanied by sudden moans and squeaks, with an additional wheeze here or there. The younger nation uttered a symphony of noises, completely and irrationally against his own will, as his former guardian gave the curl a final, vigorous jerk and surrendered his grip upon the tedious strand of brunette hair.

And, in the end, Antonio never did comprehend the meaning behind his former charge's curl, nor the utterances of arousal that had passed those sleeping lips.

********

Lovino Vargas had awoken the next morning with a nasty surprise.

Or, perhaps, an impossible-to-understand surprise. He supposed it wasn't entirely horrid, though he downright refused to admit to himself, nor to anyone else.

_Nngh…_ Lovino had murmured upon awakening that morning, inhaling the fresh scent of clean laundry and… well, something wholly new. Oh, the scent was not completely unfamiliar, as a certain sense of acquaintance graced his nostrils upon his departure from his dreams- dreams of, regrettably, that Spanish bastard known to all as Antonio. And not just him, oh, no, of much more _involving_ his former guardian, though he didn't particularly desire going back through the _shady_ details.

It also displeased him greatly to feel the bulge in his pants, as well as the irregular bend of his curl… Of course, the curl was usually unaffected by arousal, but he wasn't ready to confront his strange state of being at eight o'clock in the morning. Instead, he returned his attention to the scents lingering around and reluctantly peered passed his eyelashes.

Wait… the bulge in his pants? Under normal circumstances, this would be considered completely normal, after his saucy dreams the night prior, but not in this case… considering he was stripped naked.

The remainder of the morning would be passed with Lovino smacking and cussing out the Spaniard for daring to sleep beside him in the same bed. Really, it was so damned indecent!

"But… You're Italian!" Antonio defended, reaching into the freezer for some ice to mend the swelling bump atop his head. "Don't you all sleep naked? Besides, it's not like I did anything to you…"

_And you expect me to believe that you didn't notice my… _lower discomfort_?! _Lovino thought bitterly, though refused to allow the words to pass his lips, in the event that Antonio really hadn't noticed, which… really, wasn't that unlikely. "Hey, I'm still hungry, bastard! Feed me!" Ah, Southern Italy- so affectionate, no?

"So not cute…" Antonio mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Sighing, all the while bearing that irrevocable smile, he lifted the corn crate from its spot on the shelf and examined it with a keen, scrutinizing gaze. "Aww, it'll go bad soon! See, it's already beginning to turn!"

"Can corn really turn…?" Scowling in irritation, the Italian rolled up his sleeves (he was thankfully wearing some now) and snatched a corncob from the stack, batting it lightly against the Spaniard's forehead in agitation. "It's perfectly fine, you idiot. Is this really all you're willing to offer me?"

"Pretty much." Smile widening, Antonio grabbed a corncob for himself, examining it more closely for signs of spoil. "I don't know, you've always reminded me of a tomato. Yet, the more I think about it, you're a lot like a corncob, too."

"Oh, joy. I'm my own fuckin' buffet now?" Lovino grumbled stubbornly, scoffing.

"You are definitely represented by the cob itself- you're the part that's ignored the most, deemed by many as being inedible, and thrown aside, or, at times, the trash can."

"Gee, thanks…"

"Let me finish, Lovi! Everybody eats and enjoys the kernels, right? But, what they can't seem to realize is that, without that "disgusting, useless, stripped-to-the-stalk corncob", there would be no kernels to begin with. As underappreciated as that corncob may be, the rest of the corn kernels couldn't exist without it."

The Italian remained silent for what seemed an eternity, allowing the comparison to repeat time and time again in his innermost mind. That was… well, _corny_, for lack of a better term, and seemed like something you would find on the Internet upon searching for "crappy metaphorical corn turn-ons"… and yet, his heart's inconsistent fluttering only intensified. Normally, mushy crap along the lines of what Antonio had spewed would give the Italian a real reason for head-butting him in the gut. Those few words, however, had all but morphed his knees to mush.

"Hm?" Antonio neared his guest in curiosity, placing a palm upon his forehead to check for fever. "You're bright red, Lovi! Are you catching a fever again?"

"You're a damned idiot." Lovino huffed, brought a hand back- to punch his former guardian in the face?- and snatched his shirt collar in the other, pulling the Spanish nation forward in an all-too-delayed kiss, rhythmically brushing his lips against those of Antonio before pulling away in alarm… and _then_ punching the Spaniard in the face.

Antonio rubbed his aching cheek, jade eyes in wide, round circles of complete perplexity. Lovino, on the other hand, stood towering over his host, who had stumbled to the ground from the force of the uncontrollable punch. "_That_ was for going through my wallet, bastard!"

And, be it the cliché alignment of some unknown planets or the fault of that (surely-disease-ridden) corn, the Italian tugged the Spaniard forward once more for another lip-lock, the mingling tastes of corn, tomatoes, and cheap toothpaste all blending together in a surprisingly-splendid manner.

"And _that_," Lovino murmured, breaking the contact and wearing that same scowl, though much more light-heartedly this time, "was for the idiotic metaphor, bastard."

And fleeting smiles were exchanged once more.

* * *

A/N: COMPLETION! I'm so sorry it took so long, but there is a perfectly substantial reason for this:

My laptop got infected by malware. Therefore, I was delayed from writing any over the weekend. It's all fixed now, though, so expect another chapter of "Lovino's Misadventures in Wonderland" out soon!

Now, regarding this fic- God, I loved writing this. I'm sorry, but Spain/Romano has since become my absolute OTP, and I would write more if I could. Unfortunately I've already got three other stories going right now, though… Ah well. "TEH" has some in it…

Thank you to all of you cherished reviewers, as well as those of you who actually came back for the second half of this two-shot. Feel free to compliment, bash, or even request a one-shot. I'm free enough, I don't bite either!

Sorry if this ended rather suddenly. Eh… Again, thank you! Check out my other stories, and don't forget to review this one!

**R&R!**

**~Lore**


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